Fabiola : or, The church of the catacombs - Digital Repository Services

up that this boon might be granted.
On each side of the bed knelt a nun, and a physician was
standing near, wi.ile in one corner knelt Father Louis, the
almoner of the hospital. There was a change on the sufferer's
face, and she t..rned restlessly from side to side. She fixed her
eyes on Constance as she entered.
"Constance, is it you? "
Constance bent over her. "Dearest, I am here."
"
I see all, I know all," she murmured.
"
Forgive me, ere
I die."
And Father Louis came near, and she said
" Father, bless
me, for I have sinned deeply. Is there hope for me, father?"
And Father Louis answered " ' He that cometh unto Me, I
will in no wise ca-tt out." "
And the watcheis withdrew, and the room was
closed to all save the priest and the dying penitent.
And then they were recalled, and the last
rites of the Church took place, and Isabel made her last Communion.
After that she spoke but little, but those words
were treasured up afterwards, for in them lay hid a depth of
penitence, and of self-abasement, and of the childlike faith
that clung to forgiveness in the Precious Blood.
She looked at Constance, and sho blessed her for her long
years of patient devotion. "Thou hast comforted me, my
sister, and God w.ll comfort thee in thy last hour." The night
came ; she f< 11 into a gentle sleep, and awoke in her death-
agony. It was not long, but sharp ; but the prayers of Holy
Church went up with might, and at last peace came.
'
Mother !" she cried, looking upwards, "do I see you at
last? Mother and Walter how glorious"
And Constance's eyes also looked upward, for she, too, almost
fancied she saw angelic forms, and for a moment she
"
murmured, Lord take me home, also." But only fora
moment, and then the h 'mble, patient spirit turned again to
h- r task on earth, to watch, to wait, to pray.
Within a year of their arrival in Belgium, Lord Beauville
remaining child grew keener, and increased when she received
the news of her own divorce, which the duke, after the death
' ve her. She was kind to all ; but when,
. i d,
refugees from England came for she ter, her sym-
>oured itself forth l upon them with infinite tenderness
I he sick valued the touch of her cool hand, and the sound of
her s.)it v.dce. The sorrowful raised their heads :;s they looked
at her, bearing her bitter triuls so meekly; prieste, who
were venturing on the English mission, came to see her to
oh her prayers; for in their might, before God's throne,
they had great faith. The Religious, also, of the cocivent,
when in trouble or distress, were wont to ask their superioress's
T7BORNR 41
any apparent cause, and the physician declared death -was at
hand, and, with an intensity of anxiety, the watchers waited
for some sign of reason, and fervent were the prayers that went
leave to hog the English lady to prny for tho-n;
loved her, and she loved, tins dear, st wen
bnt of all who
children.
They nocked round her when nlie, went forth; and nlie -
enter into their gambols, and sootho th ir childish sorrows
with a mother's caro. She was not wont to say much, but her
few words of counsel sank into their ficarts, and checked many
a hasty word or foolish action. In such deeds her calm life
passed away; and gradually her step grew feebler, and a hollow
cough shook her frame, and Sister Mnry of the Cross
(which w s Bx)se Ford's name in religion) saw plainly that for
her, too, rest.was coming.
At last she could not go beyond the convent walls, and then
she grew weaker still, and could no longer leave her chamber.
It was a peaceful room that of Constance's the windows
;
looked into the convent garden, with its bright flowers and
shady trees, and one transept of the church was in view and
;
Constance lay on her couch, and gazed on the fair things His
hand had made, and thought of the t me when she, too, had
played among the flowers, blithe as the birds that flew past the
window; and she remembered what she was, stricken and suf-
fering, with death near, and she rejoiced.
It was on such a day that two persons might be seen passing
through the streets, and inquiring anxiously for the Augustinian
Convent. One was a tall and handsome Frenchman,
and he bent with tender care over a young lady who clung to
his arm, and whose fair complexion and sunny hair marked
her at once as having English blood. They pau.jed before the
door of the convent, and thj lady cast an eager glauce on the
gray walls.
" Does an English lady reside here ? " said the gentleman to
the portress.
The woman answered him by bursting into tears.
"
Oh, is she dead ? " cried the lady, in a tone of agony.
"
No, no, Madame; but near to death. You had better see
Mother Prioress."
They were shown into the parlor, and an aged nun, the
Prioress of the convent, entered.
" You ask for the Duchess of Bertram," she said; "she is very
ill; and few, indeed, are they whom we can allow to see her;"
but she glanced at the lady: "You are English, and that has
ever acclaim upon her. " And then the nun started. "Madame
procured a divorce, and immediately afterwards married again.
The next news that came to Constance was, that her darling
boy, the little Marquis of ^foreton, was dead. In the midst
of his childish glee, while riding on a pony in the park of
Bertram Castle, the pony stumbled, threw the child, his head
struck against the root of a tree, and he was taken up dead.
Poor Constance ! whrn the first burst of the mother's agony
was over, while she pictured to herself those golden curls lying
stiff in the coldness of death, and those merry blue eyes
closed forever, became comforted, and thanked God for thus
taking one of her darlings safe in his innocence to the side.
"Has she come, my
country
ttiicr.- there aie no more partings but her ; anxiety for her
sister?" said Constance, gently. "Yes,
I know all : that Mother's Heart has heard my prayer, and I
shall see my child ere I die."
And for the fsw last days of Constance's life, she was watched
and tended by a daughter's love.
is a kinswoman of our dear and noble lady?"
"Reverend mother," said the lady, going forward, "lam
her child."
Sister Mary of the Cross went gently into Constance's room;
she sat, as we have said, gazing on the fair scene, and then on
a crucifix she held in her hand. The nun knelt down by her
Mary Bertram's was a strange history ; her childhood had
been an unhappy one ; her step-mother was stern and unlov-
of his heir was induced to seek, and afterwards that of his
marriage to Mistress Elizabeth Fortescue, a woman of the same
nature as her mother stern, implacable, and bigoted. But
there was no help on earth, and Constance prayed on. Years
1 from the time of Isabel's death, and Constance spent
hT time between prnyer and good deeds. From the feet of
tin 1 Mother of Sorrows where she poured out her aching heart,
she weut to comfort the afflicted, to bind up the brokenhearted.
All in sorrow, all in sickness, all in ing,
suffering, knew
"
!1. The palo English lady," was the title the Belas
it sometimes
and treated the child with undue severity. It tended,
however, to keep alive in her mind a tender remembrance of th >
mother's fondness she dimly remembered. She never forgot
the prayer she had been taught, and she cherished an intense
desire to know more of the religion for which her mother was
banished. When she grew up, and made her appearance in
the world, she was taken notice of by the French ambassadress,
who remembered Constance, and who, from political reasons,
was high in favor at court. By her Mnry was ins ructed in the
faith, and by her means a marriage was arranged with the
Marquis de Coucy, who had been attached to the embassy, but
who, on his marriage, would return to France. Mary was one
to inspire ardent affection, and lie was as eager to grant as she
to ask that their first act should be to visit Belgium, and see
the moiher from whom she had been so long- parted.
So thus it came to pasw that Constance first saw her beloved
child received into the Catholic Church, and left her the wife
of a Catholic. All earthly sorrows and cares were over: and